Marinara Sauce for the Cupcakes
by Bidwench
Summary: Literary chill pill. A poke at out of character Morelli fiction from Cupcake writers. No offense intended to anybodyjust a lighthearted poke at the prejudices and preferences that leak through onto EVERYBODY'S fan fiction writing. Rated for language.


My version of a literary chill pill, here, for whatever it's worth. Come on. It's fan fiction, and it's the nature of the beast that somebody's going to think what you write is silly. There are certainly enough people who think what I write is a waste of space. shrug I don't write for them, I write for me and for anybody who enjoys it. Here's my take on what I personally think Cupcakes (me included) tend to do to Morelli. Uber-sensitive Morelli who caters to Stephanie's every whim is no more canon than Uber-romantic Ranger who likewise caters to Stephanie's every whim. Of course, I guess that kinda makes Stephanie the winner no matter what. Lucky girl.

Marinara Sauce for the Cupcakes, as opposed to the Goose

"Tomatoes. It's fucking December, and I have to go buy tomatoes. Again. Have you ever tried to find decent tomatoes in December?" Joe was purely disgusted.

"Why would I buy tomatoes in December, Morelli?" I asked reasonably. "I haven't had to cook anything but monster meatloaf balls and peanut butter and olive sandwiches since the first book." There was something to be said for being absolved from all kitchen duty, but I didn't think Morelli was in the mood to listen to me gloat.

"What the hell is their obsession with marinara sauce anyway? I made it once, then didn't do it again for like twelve or thirteen books, but every damn time I turn around, one of those writers has me making marinara sauce. Do you have any idea how long it takes to make a decent marinara?" I drew my breath in to answer, but Morelli rode right over the top of me "Of course you don't. You don't cook." He glared at me accusingly. "You don't have to."

"Could be worse," I commiserated, rubbing up against his naked body. Lucky me, his body was naked most of the time, thanks to a little help from 'them.' "It could be manicotti. I don't think your mother's been out of the kitchen in years. She just sits there and stuffs those little shells, day in and day out."

I gave him a come-hither look and ran my foot up the back of his leg. "So you want to take a shower?" I asked invitingly.

Morelli blinked at me. Twice.

"Not until I get some knee pads," he said, totally deadpan. "I spend more time on my knees in that shower than a plumber, and I think I may have pulled a muscle in my tongue." He narrowed his eyes as I started to chuckle. "Repetitive motion injuries are no laughing matter."

I laughed harder, of course, and climbed on top of him, and at least part of him was happy to see me, swelling up to truly astounding lengths. And girths. Whatever. Every time a new story showed up on the internet, Morelli seemed to get bigger. Not that I was complaining, mind you, even if I could barely walk some mornings. Some mornings I wondered what it would be like to wake up next to Morelli just to wake up next to him. Not because I was in a sex-induced puddle from an orgasm or two. Or twelve.

"I am more than just a sex toy," Morelli complained. "Not that I'm complaining. Well, not really." Yes he was. That was definitely complaining. "But it would be nice to know that someone saw me as more than a marinara cook and a sex object."

"They do, Morelli," I crooned. The best part of the Cupcakes wresting the literary reigns from Janet was the unbridled sex. When they were in charge, I almost always got to be on top. When I wasn't getting my favorite thing in the shower, of course. Frankly, I couldn't see what Morelli was upset about. Sure, sometimes I came off as whiny or stupid, and everybody tended to forget I had an actual college education, but the bennies were awesome. I was generally pampered, indulged and consistently got whatever I wanted.

"Yeah, I'm also the local delivery boy. Do you have any idea how many times I go to Pino's? Couldn't I just once go someplace else? Pino's isn't the only place in Trenton with pizza and subs, you know."

I looked down him from my perch on his washboard abs and frowned. "This would be a good time to interject a sardonic bit of humor," I suggested. Sheesh. Did I have to do _all_ the work?

"Humor? Yeah, right. I work sixteen hour days, come home so we can screw like bunnies, and you want me to be funny, too? We're just lucky this isn't one of those episodes where we have a houseful of kids, or I'd be trying to take care of them, too, and singing to them in Italian!" Joe's neck veins were standing out, and there was a lovely flush coming up his chiseled cheekbones.

Yum.

"And I don't even speak Italian!" he exploded.

"You get whatever you want. Janet gets a big fat bank balance. And somehow," he frowned and looked dangerous, even though we were in bed. The Cupcakes loved it when he frowned and looked dangerous, and I had to admit he was pretty hot. "Somehow, I haven't figured out what it is I get out of it."

"You get lots of sex," I explained patiently. "And you get the girl."

"Good point," he admitted, and we went to work on the fifth orgasm of the morning.


End file.
